


Steady Hearts

by CallMeHopeless (IAmNotBread)



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: College Student Reader, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Neighbors, Post-Divorce, Post-Marriage Story, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22585456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotBread/pseuds/CallMeHopeless
Summary: It starts as a promise.Starts as a belief that two lost souls might not have to weather it all alone. Starts as a way of staving off lonely nights on the sofa by having a friend there to keep them both moving forward.But life is never so simple.And love?Well: Charlie Barber knows that’s the most complex thing in the whole damned world.(A post Marriage Story fic in which Charlie Barber, divorced disaster and decorated director, ends up slowly and catastrophically falling in love with his next door neighbour - an exhausted college student just trying to get by.)
Relationships: Charlie Barber x Reader, Charlie Barber/Reader
Comments: 75
Kudos: 518





	1. Prickly Roses & Other Metaphors

**Author's Note:**

> You asked for it...get ready for the fluffening.
> 
> This fic will be a shorter, sweeter one. Probably seven chapters, each of them pretty snappy but very cute. I'm trying something a bit different - hope you'll like what I'm going for with this.

How can he be so _stupid?_

Charlie crawls over the grass on his knees, phone torch dialed up high in the dark night. He swore he had it in a tight enough grip: swore the breeze wouldn't pull it from him while he toyed with it in his fingers. He does it out of habit - knew he'd end up losing it in the end.

Stupid, _stupid_ thing.

Mud smears on his pants, and he curses Heaven and Earth for all the breaks he isn't getting. It's relentless, some days: early mornings and late nights blurring together, marred by inconvenience and loneliness that get under his skin.

L.A. isn't New York. Maybe that's half the problem.

Charlie pushes a twig to the side and shines his torch into the bushes; the breeze picking up and rustling leaves in the city night. He could get a new one: could just rummage through the envelope of them he keeps tucked away in the drawer.

But there'll never be another one quite like this.

"Everything alright down there?"

Dark hair flicks at his cheeks as his eyes snap around to the path.

And there's...there's a woman there.

White earbuds dangling out; bag crammed full of books under one arm. Charlie watches her brows dip, and it strikes him that she's...pretty, somehow. Tired, but lovely.

_Get a grip, Charlie._

"Hi," he licks his lips, putting the torch down in the grass. "It's good. I'm good. Uh...Thanks."

She twirls her earbud, a smirk forming at the corners of her lips.

"Really? I mean, you look like a guy who's got it all together."

Charlie blinks.

"That was a joke, you know." She wrings her lips, taking a step off the path towards him. "What'd you lose?"

He's not sure how much he wants to tell her.

There's a crest on her satchel and a bracelet on her wrist that looks a bit rusted on one link: he finds himself watching it dangle as she looks at him in earnest. This whole situation feels crazy to him: some random girl from wherever eyeing him off as he rummages through the bushes right outside his crummy L.A. apartment.

Shit. Hope someone doesn't call the cops.

"Something important. Usually in my wallet, but..."

_But I'm a sentimental idiot._

She throws down her satchel and joins him on the floor: boots kicking out unceremoniously as she wriggles over the grass. Charlie tries not to laugh, but they're both digging through the dirt, following the light of his shitty torch, and he's--

"What?" her lips quirk, her elbow wobbling as she pushes some branches out of the way.

"Nothing. _Nothing."_

"I could just crawl off, you know. I'm _trying_ to be _neighborly."_

Charlie shuffles over, catching a whiff of her perfume as she moves. Violets - it's nice. It's decidedly pretty.

He reaches behind himself and scuffs his hand on his jeans; then flexes it, offering her his muddy, dirty grip.

She takes it without hesitation.

"Charlie," he offers.

She gives a firm shake - then relays to him her name. 

Oh, shit. He thinks he might've gotten some of her mail a few months ago. Trashed it, too.

_Yikes_.

"You're seriously not going to tell me what it is I'm looking for?"

Charlie licks his lips, dropping his hand. He picks up the torch and tries to push some branches out of the way with his forearm.

"Little square. About this big." He gestures, holding his finger and thumb up.

She chokes.

"You got me out here on my knees looking for your _lucky condom_ or something?"

A laugh punches from his chest, rippling through his shirt.

"First opinion was that bad?"

"Charlie," she clucks her tongue, "you're on your hands and knees in a rose bush at 9pm looking for an indiscriminate wallet square. I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news," she clicks on her own phone torch, crawling away from him, "but you're looking seedier than anyone else in this neighbourhood right now. And that's saying something - Bert grows enough pot to fill Rhode Island."

Bert sounds like a guy with a lot going on.

"And what is it that you--"

"BINGO!" she cries out, plucking up a scrappy white square from just off of the path.

It'd been a lovely thing - crowding into that photobooth on the pier. Warm summer sun trying to reach through the metal as he kissed Nicole on her hairline: smiling as Henry laughed and tried to move away, making gagging sounds as the camera went off.

He keeps it right there in his wallet. Keeps it tucked away and safe.

Unless the days grow too long - grow hard enough that he needs to clutch it tight within his fingers.

Only to lose it all over again.

"...Charlie?"

She holds the photograph to him loosely; kneeling there in a frozen moment. Somewhere just behind him, a faint breeze brings the quiet scent of city life into the space between them both.

And as Charlie takes the polaroid - he feels relief.

Relief in a place it's so sorely needed.

"Thank you."

He means it.

She beams, crawling through the mud to her satchel and shrugging as she does. He climbs to his feet with a grunt of effort, looking down at the wasted grass stains all over his jeans. It's not exactly the end to the day he was hoping for.

He offers a hand up - she takes it, palm flexing in his own. Nicole used to say his hands were like baseball mitts: muscle and softness, contending together.

She's always been better with words than him.

"You're very lucky," his neighbour says. "Your wife looks like she's lovely."

_Oh._

"She..."

His right hand meets his left reflexively; pulling at the lack of tan on his fourth finger there. He wrings it, tracing the space where a glint used to be.

"She is. Was. I'm..." Charlie takes a difficult breath, running a hand through his thick hair. "We got divorced. Earlier this year."

You could hear a pin drop.

_"Oh."_

He shrugs.

"Remembering's good," he tries to reason. "Good to hold onto good things."

_Is it?_

_Does it matter if it's better this way?_

"College. By the way." She tugs the strap of her satchel, shifting her weight. It looks heavy. "See, I tried not to make it obvious I was changing the subject. But now I've told you I was trying to change the subject. So now I'm digging my own grave, you know?" she looks over her shoulder. "Help me out here, I'm screwing this up."

And Charlie actually, properly, genuinely laughs.

"This conversation's going worse than my marriage."

Her jaw drops open, but she's laughing hard - hard enough that she gives him a little shove. Playful: fun and soft and full of promise.

_Don't fall for that one, Charlie._

"You're in college, huh?" he scuffs the dirt with his foot. "Is it everything you dreaded?"

She groans.

"So much worse. Took a few years out. Now it's like..." she spins in a half circle, blowing air from her lips in the cool breeze. "I can taste the degree, but the coursework's more depression inducing than you'd imagine. _It's like dying slowly, Charlie_. It's like dying on a plane: but the plane's on fire, the fire's filled with scorpions, and everyone on board wants my project by 5pm."

Oh, he remembers that.

Wait - how old is she? He should've tried to figure that out, but the moment's going, and he's--

"Did you want to..." he points to his apartment, gesturing with his fingers you walking through the door. "I made spaghetti. I know budgets are tight."

He pockets the photograph, patting his jeans.

She bites her lip in thought.

"I'd love to. I'd really love to, but..."

Ah.

The inevitable _'but'._

"Tutorial starts at 8. And I should really have a shower," she gestures to her ruined knees, now covered in pieces of grass. "But I'll maybe take a raincheck. We're neighbors after all: it's inevitable. Someday, one of us might need a bag of sugar."

Charlie tries not to feel disappointed.

"Or to find a lucky condom in a rosebush?" he smirks.

She winks, and oh - yep, that goes right through him.

Jesus. She's so lovely. How the hell has he not noticed her before?

"See you soon, Charlie."

And as she walks to the apartment right next door - Charlie feels his heart lurch in his chest. Watches the way she stuffs in her earbuds, the way she gives him a gentle nod as she crosses the threshold.

He stands there for a while; looking out into the quiet night.

Feels the gentle beating of his own heart.

And thinks of how he's laughed more in this last few minutes,

Than he has in all the months before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwwww
> 
> [Come and say hi on Tumblr?](http://callmehopeless.tumblr.com)


	2. Spilled Milk & Held Breaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not his fault he's a mess!

None of this bodes that well for him.

Bleary-eyed, Charlie pushes a half-stocked cart over linoleum tiles. Someone's playing some piss-awful Drake song on the radio; fluorescant lighting the only thing keeping him close to being conscious as he scans the chip aisle. He's not sure what time it is at this point, but he's pretty sure midnight has come and gone.

Pretty sure anyone who has their shit together isn't shuffling through the grocery store looking for Lays on special.

He tugs at the sleeve of his jumper, wetting his lips as he tries to do the math in his head. He's not _flat broke_ levels of broke, but he's not _Camembert and steak dinners_ level of not-broke. He's somewhere in the mediocre middleground: weak beer, tinned tomatoes, spaghetti.

Dark eyes heavy with sleep, he pushes on in this noble quest. Only spurred on by the thought that Henry will be here this weekend - maybe they'll build Lego blocks on the carpet. There's a library downtown with some dinosaur fossils on display; maybe they'll scope it out.

Somewhere over the intercom, static cracks. Charlie's gaze drifts upward, taking in the huge length of the aisle, right to where it ends in a row of freezers.

He sees a face.

Knows _that face._

And she looks up.

You know that look two people share when you pass eachother in the street, and there's a momentary realisation there's recognition there? And you're passing them - you're keeping stride but you falter for just a moment too long, and it's suddenly too late to carry on without giving a nod, or a wave, or just--

This is that. This is that, and Charlie has about two seconds to look away and let her do the same.

But she's wearing this pretty floral skirt: she's got big ugly headphones on and a shopping basket swinging in her hand as she moves it to the music and she's staring, God, she's looking at him and it's the most ridiculous damned thing.

She lifts her free hand and puts two fingers to her head: saluting him over the frozen peas.

In response, Charlie gives a tired wave.

College Girl's eyes drop to his cart, and then her brow furrows. She draws a circle with her fingers, then opens her arms. She points at him, then shrugs.

What is she--

Oh, _right_.

He stops his cart, and then puts his hands out in front of him. Smirking a little, he twiddles his fingers in the air, then draws an arcing motion. Closes his eyes, breathing heavily, pretending to fall to the side...

...And an elderly lady audibly growls at him as he stumbles into her cart, heading the other way.

"Sorry!" he flushes bright red, watching her tut and mutter something about 'crackheads' that he doesn't quite catch the end of. He looks over his shoulder to watch her bitterly push on: Charlie blowing a curl of hair out of his eyes in frustration.

"Friendly people in this town, right?"

He nearly jumps out of his damn skin.

His neighbour grins, watching the scene with amusement through tired eyes. She pulls her headphones down to rest around her neck: music whispering out from time to time.

"L.A. has a very certain breed of pissed off. Boomers have had a lifetime to master the art." Her eyes dart to the shelves, picking through the colourful array of chip packets. She swings her basket, crammed full of stuff Charlie's trying to get a better look at. Discounted Lucky Charms, pineapple strawberry Arbor Mist, ramen noodles. Mac and cheese?

Holy fuck. 

"I see your night's going as well as mine," Charlie says. "All things considered."

"No winners on the midnight grocery run."

Charlie smirks.

"But you're _definitely_ losing."

She mockingly looks offended, turning and dipping her hand into his cart. She fishes out a can of maple baked beans - in response, he snatches them back and sets them down in their rightful place, pouting his lips.

"Your point?" she bats her lashes, hand tightening around the wire mesh edge of his metal cart. She's just so fucking pretty that his heart gives this half-beat in its chest: this almost painful lump lodging itself in his throat when he tries to swallow it down.

_You're just lonely, Charlie. That's all._

He clears his throat.

"Long night of studying?" he tries to change the subject away from the monstrous assortment of mishmash goods of his own, lurking deep beneath the few measly sprigs of celery and bags of carrots he's bought for his stew. He leans his weight on the cart just enough to goad her into walking with him through the aisle, chucking in a few slightly fancier packets of chips than he'd normally go for.

_See? I'm functional. I pay taxes. I buy midrange chips. Maybe even brand sodas._

"Not even. Tutorials finished at eight, then thesis drafting in my office 'till eleven. Just came to pick up dinner." She shakes the Lucky Charms box, and the distaste clearly shows on Charlie's face, because her eyes nearly roll back into her damn head. "Oh, come off it. It's not all bad: they've got oats. Says so right," she points to a blue text box at the top, "here."

Charlie huffs, moving to the frozen produce section while she scans the glass refrigerators. He edges ahead slightly, but stops and doubles back when he sees her eyeing up the popsicles. He shoves a hand into his jeans pocket, leaning his other arm against the cart as he blinks away a sleepy haze that tingles at his spine.

"Sort of glad I've seen you at the store. Helped me figure out what you do for a living."

Charlie's brow quirks, her skirt blowing in the air conditioner just so. There's something...lovely about her, somehow. Something honest and open and easy to connect with.

She's in her world, and he's in his.

Right next door.

He moves his hand from his jeans, running it through his hair. Getting a bit long now. Needs a trim.

"Let's hear it, then."

She deliberates for a moment, before reluctantly pushing away from the freezers. She chews her lip in thought: looking ahead as they both slowly shuffle through the aisles.

"Three guesses."

Charlie smirks to himself, eyes dropping to his feet.

"Three. No more."

She holds up a finger, moving her basket down to the crook of her elbow uncomfortably.

"One," she counts. "Air Force."

Charlie's face scrunches up. "Way off. That's...You're not even close."

She pouts at him.

"Alright...Two: vampire."

He huffs a laugh, dimples pressing into his cheeks as he turns to retort. She's already way ahead of him.

"That one was a joke. I meant...video game design. Nerd stuff."

Charlie shakes his head. "That's three."

"Two!"

"Three. You don't get do-overs."

She knocks her shoulder into his, sending jolts right up his body.

"Vampire isn't a real job title, you dick."

"Tell that to Count Chocula. He deserves a good union as much as anyone else."

They both reach the cashier till, and there's this...this moment. This palpable feeling in Charlie's chest: warming him from the inside, right down into the marrow of his bones. There's a smile on his face he can hardly keep down, in the too-bright lighting of this shitty grocery store of this shitty city.

He's half-asleep, but the way she's grinning right back at him...

"I'm going to...gonna head to a friend's place. But I'll see you around, right?"

And Charlie's okay with the fact she says _friend_ with an inflection there. Just a jump on the first few letters, a lingering hesitation on her tongue. Charlie's freckles move as his smile drops just an inch, for just a moment.

When it comes back: he's feeling like he can't quite swallow right.

But it's _okay_.

_It is._

"Sure hope so. I'll give you three more guesses next time."

She shoots him a gentle look before she turns on heel; yawning, pulling her headphones up over her ears. The cashier begins reaching in and scanning his groceries, and for a moment Charlie Barber is...suspended. Holding a moment deep in his chest.

But then he remembers to breathe.

And it's just him running through the motions all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come and say hi on Tumblr?](http://callmehopeless.tumblr.com)


	3. Dawn Skies & Shared Little Glances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's cute now! It's cute!

"Dad," Henry scuffs his feet, green boots kicking up a pebble from the pavement. Traffic passes by - Charlie tries to look as though he knows how to fix the fine mess he's gotten himself into yet again.

Parked in the driveway, Charlie pulls out the dipstick and finds it comes away without any issue. No oil leaks, no problems with the clutch. He's got this nagging feeling the engine's gone and flooded after last night's rainfall, and it's--

"--Dad, it's okay. Mom said she'll take me when--"

"--It's fine, Henry. It's fine! We'll just..." he licks his lips, bitterly frustrated as he palms for his cellphone. Irritation prickles, and he feels so fucking stupid. Stupid, terrible father: didn't have this issue yesterday. Should've checked when you got home from work. Fuck's sake: no wonder Henry's always looking for an out. No wonder, no wonder.

Beige coat is stained with grease as he fumbles, grabbing out his battered phone and unlocking the chipped screen. Evening's drawing in, but he wanted to take Henry to the dinosaur exhibit - some sort of light show with the displays, and he's all about eating curly fries right now. His mom isn't all too keen on the things, but Charlie's about ready to do anything to put that smile back on his boy's face.

Henry doesn't meet Charlie's eyes when he looks over. The plastic stegosaurus in Henry's little hand moves at a janky angle; the sun starts to set behind the brickworks of a nearby block, and Charlie starts to wonder if this is defeat.

It's okay. Sometimes, that's just the way it is.

Shouldn't be every time, though.

He rolls up the sleeves on his ruined coat, bare hands diving in for another round when he stuffs the phone into his pocket.

He can fix this. He can, right? _He'll fix this._

"I promised I'd take you. _I'm taking you."_

Sweat beads on his brow as he reaches in and tries to take a look at the engine - tries to find an issue, if there's any at all to find. Stupid thing never starts when he wants it to these days: had to sell the Volvo, and now he's driving his son around in this metal deathtrap. Jesus, no wonder Nicole--

"Charlie?"

Oh no.

Oh for God's sake.

He turns right as Henry does: hair a wild mop, eyes heavy as he peers around the open hood of the car. There's grease right up to his elbows, and his heart's all in his throat, and she's there: she's standing there and staring at him and seeing it all, every part, and she's...

She's...

She's _beautiful_.

Charlie supposes the sun rising is always, always beautiful. Always bathing the world in some sort of delicate light; weaving through the clouds, splitting the sky in colours that come close to a kaleidescope. But some mornings...some mornings, you're too busy. Too busy sleeping. Thinking. Dreaming of a world where the dawn won't burn you with the fear that you, too, are insignificant.

But there are some mornings. A handful, in a lifetime full of mornings. Sunrises that fill you with a sense of something intangible.

They make you want to wake each and every morning just to see the gold spill over the horizon.

He doesn't know why he thinks of it now: looking at her in a green flowing dress.

Charlie doesn't know why, and he _wishes_ he did.

"Uh..." he looks down at his blackened hands, chewing his cheek. Shame blooms in his cheeks when he raises one up, splaying it and waving over at his gorgeous neighbour. "Hi."

She smirks, palming her keys in her hand.

"Sweeping chimneys not working out for you?"

Charlie chuffs a laugh, and her eyes dart down to the little brown-haired boy with a battered plastic dinosaur standing between them both.

"This is Henry - Henry, this is the lady who lives next door."

She walks over slowly; heels clicking on the concrete as she makes her way across the driveway. When she reaches him, she bends down to his height - a quirk in the corners of her soft mouth, pulling upward into a gentle smile.

"That's a lovely dinosaur, Henry. What's his name?"

Henry shrugs, eyes down on the plastic spines.

"He's very nice," she continues.

Henry's quiet, for a moment. Contemplative, as Charlie dusts his hands off on his coat. The thing's ruined now anyway - may as well.

"...Thanks." Henry mumbles it quietly, and Charlie's heart moves up into his throat.

College Girl moves to her feet unsteadily; eyeing up the situation with a quirked brow. She seems to be chewing something over, and then settles on a thought.

"Where are you headed?"

Oh.

She doesn't have to--

"Really, you don't have to--"

"--Where?"

Charlie sucks the inside of his cheek; eyes stuck on the way her hair drifts _just so_ in the wind.

"Downtown. Library's got a display on. But it's no big deal - we can get a cab, or--"

And the smile she gives him. _Oh God_ , the smile.

Where is this coming from? This feeling, burning in his chest when she bats her eyes like that? When she gestures for him to follow her, wherever the hell she might be off to?

"It's no chariot, but you're on my route. Come on: grab the booster seat and I'll just go and move the books from the backseat."

She bustles off, and Charlie can't help but laugh.

Books. _Plural_.

Henry's nervous about the prospect of being in a new car, but his excitement about the dinosaurs more than makes up for it as he scrambles to help with the booster seat. Her car smells like synthetic strawberry freshener - it's strong, and oddly...charming, somehow. Good, as she backs out of the driveway in a car that rivals his for its scrappy physique, and pulls away onto bustling L.A. streets.

She puts on the radio quietly, and there's this palpably bubbly feeling in Charlie's chest. Rising up there as he watches her navigate the pedals in heels; laughing as Henry explains he's hoping he'll get yet another dinosaur toy out of this trip.

Charlie doesn't say much. He smooths his hand through his hair: dimples pressing into his cheeks when the air whips around him from the open window.

They reach Downtown without much incident, and by the time they're close to the library, Henry is practically _vibrating_ at the prospect.

"Thanks so much for doing this. Really. Car's always halfway out the door."

She smiles, winding up the window as stops at a light.

"No bother - not too far out of my way. It's an easy fix up. I'll come pick you up too, if you'd like."

He would. He'd like it so much.

It scares him just how quickly he's _wanting_ that.

"Maybe...yeah. If it's not an issue, I mean."

Her eyes dart to his; holding his gaze for this moment that seems to just...stretch. Just slightly too long. A fraction of something spilling into her gaze that he can't quite manage to grasp.

"Of course," she says brightly.

And then the next few words.

The next few words are razors in his throat.

"Gives me a good excuse to get out if things aren't working out. Not trapped at a table...dates, you know? It's the lotto."

Dates.

A date.

"Oh."

He swallows so hard that it's genuinely painful.

"Anyone nice?" Charlie asks quietly, looking out the window at the passing traffic.

_Leave it. You barely know her._

"Friend of mine. He's great, but it's a transition. Nothing serious - just testing it out. Not convinced either way yet."

That's worse, somehow.

Worse than some random man in some random restaurant.

And she continues; even though his feet are rubbing together in his shoes, and he's feeling this cold sweat on his collar.

"Thought I'd try dating an actor. It's L.A., after all. How do you ever manage not to?"

Henry pipes up. "My mom's an actor."

Charlie's gaze is over his shoulder at Henry before he knows it; flannel shirt riding at his elbows as he tries to soften his gaze. It's not intentional - it's a flinch he can't control as he watches Henry swing his legs in the booster seat.

College Girl makes a noise of curiosity.

"That's cool! Does she act a lot?"

Henry smashes his dinosaur into his fist, making a crashing sound.

"Yep. She used to be in plays with D--"

_"--Henry."_

It's firm, but more pained than angry. Frustrated, as Charlie puts his hand on Henry's foot to stop him kicking quite so hard. They share a glare for a few seconds before Charlie settles back into his seat as the car rounds a corner on a sidestreet.

She smooths the steering wheel, tapping her nails on it.

"Guess one: actor."

Charlie chuffs. "Wrong."

Her pretty mouth smooths into a thin line.

"You write?"

Charlie looks down at his clammy, slightly dusty hands resting on his jeans. Looks at the cracks in his palms; the way they knit in streams right up to his fingertips. 

He wonders if they're the hands of a writer, after all. The hands of someone who can't help but write his own fate.

"Closer, but...off."

She chews her lip, narrowing her eyes with a smile. The cogs turn; he watches as her beautiful dress sways just so when the car pulls into the bay right outside the library. The last rays of twilight dust the Los Angeles skyline, and Charlie can't quite bring himself to see it as something he'd want to stay awake to witness.

The transition today isn't the dawn she brought to his soul when he first saw her today.

And yet, what scares him most?

She's no less beautiful for it.

"This is your stop," she beams. "I'll pick you up from here in...two hours, let's say?"

And Charlie does something he might later regret.

"It's...fine, actually. It's alright. We'll get a cab - I don't know how long we'll be, and it's really not so far."

Her face falls just a fraction.

Charlie opens up the door and moves around to help Henry out of his seat; unclipping his belt and helping him onto the sidewalk. His little hand grips Charlie's, and College Girl leans over as Charlie bends down to say goodbye.

"I'll drop off the car seat tomorrow," she smiles softly. "Assuming you don't run off to move in with the dinosaurs."

Charlie's eyes crinkle, mouth all dry as he leans down.

"Thanks again. I owe you one," he licks his chapped lips, trying to regain control of his throbbing heart. "And...have a great time."

She gives a quick wave to Henry - and then the car door closes behind them both. The car pulls away, off into the city traffic - somewhere, Charlie hears a siren in the distance.

He doesn't move, even when Henry tugs his sleeve insistently.

"Come on, Dad. Let's _go."_

_Yeah._

He squeezes Henry's hand, and starts up the steps.

And only looks back once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a soft place in my brain and this came from it
> 
> [Come and say hi on Tumblr?](http://callmehopeless.tumblr.com)


	4. Open Windows & Quiet Nights Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well this got lewd fast

He sleeps with the window cracked open.

Charlie knows he shouldn't - knows this isn't the neighbourhood to take those stupid risks. But the air here just rattles in his lungs; gets so stuffy in this half-cocked bedroom that he finds his chest aching when he wakes in the mornings. He suspects there's an issue with rising damp in the walls somewhere; should probably call someone and get the damned thing looked at.

So he lets the Los Angeles night into his stuffy room, and he tries to find sleep.

Tries so hard.

He thinks he manages it at about 11, after two hours of tossing and turning. Somewhere, colours bleed out of the world, and Charlie's white shirt sticks to his chest as he falls into a restless sleep.

And when he rouses; he's all sorts of confused.

"Nicole?" he murmurs, still moving through the line between peace and the waking hours. "Baby?"

But the pillow next to him is cold - soft and cool and unused by anyone. A silent tormentor that reminds him of a life before.

That truth dawns on Charlie with enough force to make him ache; running a huge hand through his thick hair. The alarm clock reads at well after 1am, and he wishes he could feel grateful for getting another six more hours of sleep before sound checks.

He grits his teeth, laying on his back and staring at the grains in the ceiling, when...

A noise.

Charlie's brow dips - he can't quite place it. Can't place the muted sound he hears from just outside his window; something hushed, half-broken in some places. It's something familiar, but...hazy. Something he turns over curiously in his head.

_"Yes."_

_Oh._

_Oh shit._

It's drawn out: beautiful and melodic and husky, rich with this gorgeous longing in the quiet L.A. night. Charlie's heart races, and he knows, knows any good man should close the window, now that hers is open, too. Bolt it and go back to sleep: try to ignore the way his hardening cock stirs in his pajama pants.

His body freezes, and he wonders if it's just his lonely mind. Just his lonely thoughts, bringing to him sounds of his beautiful neighbour that he's conjured up, somehow.

Surely that's it. _Surely_.

But then - her _moan._

It's like a kick in his gut: the ache burns up right through his wrists. Sharp need that courses, plumetting in rivers right down through his stomach.

The thought pushes at his mind, and Charlie Barber is stuck in the middle of a nightmare.

Because not closing the window? That's bad. That's him willingly listening to his neighbour finger herself.

But touching his cock while she does it?

That's worse. That's so much worse, and Charlie's not sure he'll ever be able to look her in the eyes again.

_"Oh...yes."_

Charlie moves his face into his off-white pillow and feels his breath catch. Long fingers ghost over the hem of his pants; just feeling the curve of the material. He winds one of the drawstrings around his index finger and shivers all over; glued to the mattress by some force he can't fight.

Guilt crackles up his spine at the way he feels his hard cock twitch in his pants; picturing how beautiful she looks when she smiles. How she flashes her teeth and bats her eyes, makes his legs nearly buckle from underneath him. How the day she'd returned that booster seat in a bluster of rushed placations, she'd had just a dash of creamy pink lipstick on her teeth.

He'd have gladly licked it off for her, if she'd asked.

Sweat builds on his brow, and Charlie lets the drawstrings go. Lets his fingers wander around the outline of his throbbing cock: hot with blood and too sensitive to stop thinking of. Every inch of it feels tight; wants a warm, wet pussy to sink down into.

He bites his red lip, heart pounding in the dark night.

And when he hears her whimper: the curse that lifts from his lips feels like fire on his breath.

Squeezing his bulge makes him teeter into madness; drunk on something he's been denied for so many lonely months. This endless climbing that flicks a switch in Charlie's brain - without much of a thought, he's tugging down his pants. His hard cock springs free, leaking on his stomach and making him ache with need.

Please. Oh God, _please_.

Stars pulse when he licks a thick stripe over his hand and smooths back the quilt. Damp fingers find him; and Charlie audibly gasps.

"Mmmmnnh--" he blows air from his cheeks, toes curling. "F--"

Feels good. His cock's harder than it's been in a good number of weeks - sensitive to every ridge on his calloused palm. He hears his gorgeous College Girl moan; in response, Charlie's throat catches on spit.

Shame rises and falls too fast to catch it, leaving his black hair splayed across the pillow as he pumps his cock with punishing strokes. When desperation coils in his stomach too quickly, his free hand squeezes the base - tapers off the orgasm that threatens to roll through and drag him under.

Holy shit. This is fucking _hot_.

 _"So good,"_ she sighs, breathy and desperate: voice carrying in the dark night. _"Oh--"_

He pictures it's her, then. _Her warm, wet mouth, painted that beautiful shade of pink that smeared across her teeth. How it'd paint his cock in a gorgeous shade as she winks at him, tits bouncing and painted fingernails wrapped around the length of him. When he cups his balls; her hands are massaging them. Teasing them just how he likes it; lingering moments that tear a gasp from his lips._

_"You're so good," he tells her, eyes on hers. Always tired from nights of studying but glinting, gleaming in the night. "Sucking my cock like you're made for it."_

She moans at the taste of him; blended with the hoarse moan that he hears from her window. He bets she's got that vibrating cock jammed deep and tight: huge, stretching her out for him. She'll have to practice for him - he's _big_. Thick and long; veins tracing down the length of him in pinker tones. 

Bets she's taking that plastic cock with a greedy look on her face. Taking it right to the hilt - picturing it's his, and he's ramming her up against his bathroom wall.

_Hands on the mirror; breath on the glass._

Charlie chokes, and his heart speeds up.

_"Want me to cum?" he asks her, thrusting into her tight pussy. She's squirming as he pushes her tits up against the glass; teeth nipping at her ear. "Want to - fuck - want to feel me cum in your beautiful cunt?"_

The words come out as a pained whisper; urgent, sloppy in the real world when they fall from his lips. Charlie's breathing is laboured, one hand furiously nudging up his white shirt to give access to his stomach.

"Christ," he groans, arching his back. This feels so fucking good; his wet hand stroking, and her pussy just...meters away. Two walls between them - no space at all, when you think about it.

She's beautiful. But stuffed full of his cock?

She'd be a masterpiece.

 _"Yes,"_ he hears her moan. _"I want you to..."_

Is he imagining it, through the pounding in his ears? The response she makes seems to be almost for him, out in the night's sky. He's taking care to be as quiet as he can, but the walls are paper thin.

Let her hear him.

Let her know how much he craves his gorgeous College Girl; clumsy and smelling of violets. Tripping over words and spilled over sunsets.

And please, more than anything: let him be _hers_.

Charlie's eyes roll back as his breath catches - groaning, deep and thick when cum spills out onto his stomach. Ropes of pearly white drool from the head of him, and Charlie's so high up he can hardly come down.

_Holy shit._

_"Charlie,"_ he swears he hears her beg, between the ropes of cum spurting from his cock. _"Charlie, yes--!"_

It's enough to make his cock twitch, clenching from overstimulation at the sound that carries on the wind. His mind wants it so badly to be true that if he suspends what he knows, he can almost tell himself she'd want him, too.

Oh.

He's panting, laying in a tacky mess of his own cum as the feeling ebbs, replaced by something darker.

_He can almost tell himself she'd want him, too._

His heart aches in time with his lungs - cock beginning to wilt back to normal size. No sound comes from the room opposite his; nothing but the sound of his own breathing, and the whistling of the wind.

The guilt pangs, but is replaced by feelings he hasn't felt in...years. Years of security have left him in a strange place; now, he wants someone enough to be impulsive. Be brash. It's new, and it's terrifying, and it's not what he was expecting.

When was the last time he came at the thought of a woman, and felt such...stirring, right down in the pits of himself? A high so exquisite he's flying; a valley so deep, he's crashing into her?

He nuzzles the pillow, leaning over to grab a tissue and clean himself up. Outside, the wind whistles; stars shine bright.

And by the time Charlie falls into exhausted sleep: neither window is shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's real Horny Hours
> 
> [Come and say hi on Tumblr?](http://callmehopeless.tumblr.com)


	5. Long Hours & Stolen Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wants a quick kiss.

Some days are endless.

Charlie's mind is filled with lines upon lines of scrawled writing, running through him as he paces through his living room. There's this...this restlessness, right down in the small of his back as he tries to picture the scenes he's written endless lines of agonizing critique over.

Somewhere in the distant night, a car horn breaks him from this cycle of aching stress.

He's holding it all through his body: couldn't even bear to cook, forcing him to duck in and grab some chow mein from the takeout place three blocks down.

He misses New York. Misses knowing his place, in the grand scheme of the world.

Misses having someone to talk to about every little thing that strays into his mind.

The knock on the door sends his heart pounding up into his chest; cursing, Charlie runs a hand through his hair, running through the possibilities of who the fuck could be smacking on the woodwork at 9pm on a Friday. Could be a lost pizza guy. Hell, could be a mugger.

He opens the door up anyway. Nothing to lose.

"Hey Charlie."

It's ice water, right through the twisting wires of his veins as Charlie straightens in his off-blue sweater. Crackles of nervousness tug right through him, and Christ, his mouth's so dry, say something, come on...

Because...it's her.

His College Girl is nothing if not poetic. It's like it's written through the very fabric of her; like her bones are made of the paper she slumps over tirelessly, when the world tries to sleep. Her eyes are tired, her hair's all frizzed out. Boots looking scuffed and she's got a thin string of loose thread hanging down from her shirt and she's--

\--She's fucking _beautiful_.

Spare lines of poetry and thick silences in a cold place: she is every glimmering window he misses in the New York skyline.

And he'll never forgive her for how hard and fast he's left fumbling for words at the mere sight of her.

"Hey yourself."

He wrings his lips; leaning his forearm against the handle and sweating right through his jeans.

"This is..." College Girl puffs a breath in the crisp air, shaking her head, "...stupid. But I'm just feeling so lonely, right now. Needed to see someone for a while - just need to get out of my own head for a moment."

Oh yes.

He's not felt much else, these passing months.

"Come in," he offers, pulling the door back. "I'll make us some tea."

* * *

For the first time in what feels like forever: Charlie really, _really_ talks.

They sit on the couch watching old re-runs of cooking shows and talk about anything and everything and nothing at all. He's got this salted caramel matcha tea he makes her in a spotted mug and an old threadbare blanket draped around her, and though the evening's been wasting on his soul before he feels oddly at peace, now.

Not fixed. Not whole.

But peaceful.

His College Girl sips at her tea loudly and laughs when she tells him how she tripped on the sidewalk yesterday. Scuffed her ankle raw (she shows him, and Charlie's hand almost fans to _soothe_ it), and ended up spilling half of her water bottle all over the concrete. She wiggles her toes in the off-green blanket and glances at the TV, puffing a breath from her lips.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" she asks.

Charlie sets his mug down, chewing his cheek.

"Hmmm?"

"Being alive."

_Make me alive._

"You never told me," Charlie shuffles, leaning back against the armrest, "how the date went."

By the time the question tumbles from his lips he's already sweating; the back of his neck scratchy in the blue of his sweater, as the light swelters around him. He knows what he wants her to say - even if there's no answer that will quite give him what he wants.

Words fail to hand him anything, these days.

He needs her hands and her smiles and her long nights.

There's nothing else for it, now.

She takes another sip of tea, and Charlie feels his heart right up in his throat.

"Good..." she says cautiously, and it aches as it goes down, "...I mean, he's nice. Really nice, actually. I told you we were friends, before, and that's the part that's sort of," she tilts the mug to simulate uncertainty, nearly spilling tea right over his sofa. Charlie's laugh bubbles up from his throat in this deep chuckle, crinkling at his eyes. "But...I dunno. I want it to work? But then something's in the back of my head, telling me it's _missing something."_

"I get that."

"Yeah. He's charming - he's got that quality actors have. Sunshine somewhere off in the corners of him. I see it all spiraling out: elaborate, this whole crazy romance we could have. And I'd always be just..." she shakes her head, picking at a loose thread on the blanket, "...in the wings. And I'm not sure I want that."

Charlie's heart flutters.

"You don't like the limelight."

"I don't _think about it,_ Charlie," she scoffs, setting down her empty mug, "that's the thing. I just don't see space for me in that life."

And his head is filled with it.

What if.

What if he--?

What if...

"What's that look?" she asks him, a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth.

"I don't have a _look."_

"You're a thinker. A big nerd. It's obvious to me when you're ticking away."

Charlie runs a hand through his hair, huffing this small chuckle to himself. Somewhere outside, he hears rain pattering ever so slightly on the panes of the window.

"I was married to an actor for so long. All these years. I don't even think I ever considered a life that didn't see me somewhere off in her light. Never even thought--" he blows air through his nose, and his heart throbs, "--thought it could exist for me. I didn't grow up in that world, but it was this world I wanted so much that when I look back I just..."

Somewhere along that train of thought, Charlie dips into this silence that pricks goosebumps over the planes of his skin.

His gorgeous College Girl shuffles just a little closer, and her forearm brushes his just so.

"I've got it," she clicks her fingers.

His smile is so warm that it shocks even him; voice low as he nudges her shoulder with his own.

"Hit me."

"Nerdy; works with actors. See, I was gonna go with camera guy, at first. But then you've got that far-off look on your face all the time. And it got me thinking..."

"And?"

She smiles triumphantly. 

"Producer?"

Charlie mockingly facepalms, groaning into his wrist. His College Girl pulls his hand away, taking his huge wrist in her warm fingers.

"Come on!" she gasps, grinning wildly. "I'm never this bad! I thought I had it!"

Her finger strokes along the thin bones of his wrist, and Charlie is a breathless teenager all over again.

"You're so close. You're..." he moves his face in barely inches from hers, and his heart is so loud in his ears he's barely hearing his own voice "...about this close."

"That is awfully close," she whispers.

"Mm."

His eyes dart to her lips in this way that feels like a static pull; feels like he can barely breathe under the weight of it.

"Charlie?" she asks, through the dizzying haze.

He licks his lips.

"Yes?"

Her breath hitches; fingers threading up and into his.

"Are you going to kiss me now, Charlie?"

His half-hard cock stirs at the thought, and Charlie aches with how much he wants to savour this.

"If you guess right," he smirks, swallowing, "I might."

It's a tease and a flirt; but it's not a point he'll hammer home. All she has to do is lean in now, and he'll gladly make a mockery of it.

Please kiss him. _Please kiss him._

When she leans away: fuck, fuck fuck fuck. His heart aches and swelters, his hands clammy as she moves her leg and--

Oh my god.

_Fuck._

She straddles his lap in earnest, sinking down onto his jeans as her hand threads tighter into his. In moments his free hand is splayed on the small of her back, and she's looking down at him, and god, oh god, his veins are aching in his arms--

"Tell me," she whispers hungrily, bending in to let her lips almost skim over his. "Tell me, Charlie, and _I'll let you."_

He goes to crush his lips to hers; but she's faster.

Dipping to his neck, her lips meet the surface of his skin. They part on it, sucking just enough.

Charlie's nails dig into her back.

And he _groans._

"Holy sh--" he's breathless; eyes fluttering as she rolls the skin there through her teeth and tongue. Her hips meet the hardness tucked down in his jeans, and Charlie's mind is empty of anything but this.

The perfect torture of her lips on his skin but not eclipsing his mouth is _terrifying_. Hot and harsh and making his lips part, making his body ache for her.

"Director," he begs, burning up right through his lungs, "I'm a Director."

And just like that, he seizes her jaw in his hand--

\--And crushes his lips to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all need a little sexual tension  
> As a treat
> 
> [Come and say hi on Tumblr?](http://callmehopeless.tumblr.com)


	6. Minutes To Midnight & The Burning Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what they say about all good things?

It goes like this:

First, it's a promise. Like a match that flickers in a dark place; something strikes and fuels a fire.

Second, it's an instinct. Want pulls in time with need; sets the gasoline to obliterate doubt, where it rests in his heart.

And finally,

Finally,

He _burns_.

* * *

The kiss aches right through him, and Charlie can barely stand it.

Barely stand the way he feels his cock ache against her stomach; her hands in his, fingers pressed so tight that he can't breathe. Veins tingle with this burning need, and his whole heart feels as though it's beating right out of his paper-thin chest.

Beating right in time with hers.

She tastes of everything he loves - every second, even as her breath flutters on his lips when she pulls back just enough. Just enough to take him in: to hold his gaze, even if for a moment.

 _"Charlie,"_ she whispers, her breath mingling with his own as the TV hums in the background.

Yes.

He'll give his beautiful College Girl anything, if she dares to ask it from her perfect lips.

And when her hips push to meet his...

"Fuck," he hisses, "I want you. I want you _so much."_

His cock feels as though it's aching within his jeans, the very idea of being buried within the wet heat of her driving him to madness. This ridiculous heat he hasn't felt in so many years; he's so desperate for it, so hungry for it, that he fists her shirt and pulls her lips to his.

The wet sound drives him to madness as her teeth pull at his bottom lip, his cock pushing out a pulse of precum that aches as he twitches. 

"Then _take me."_

She sighs it in this ragged way; almost cruel as it pushes from her tongue to torment him further. Charlie's breath is coming in pants, now: barely letting him regain control as his hands cup at the hem of her skirt and find the curve of her ass. The fabric is thin enough to drive him to madness and push him forward with every breath, and he's falling through space when he tries to get to his feet, tries to will the air to wrap around him and let him sink into her.

He's waited all this time.

He'd like to say he can wait another moment. Like to say this has tested his patience enough to make him feel comfortable within it.

_Never._

_He'll never have enough of her._

It takes all the force in him to grip her tight and rend them both to their feet. Charlie's dark hair licks his cheeks with the force of the thing, and they both stumble back to hit the thin wall as her back hits it.

He doesn't care.

"I've wanted this for weeks, Charlie," she shakes her head, thrusting her hips against the painfully hard outline of his cock, _"weeks."_

He can't _breathe_.

"Tell me."

Her back splays against the wall, and Charlie's zipper is so fiddly that he swears at his fucking trembling fingers, trembling so much that he can barely fucking--

His College Girl dips to suck his neck, and Charlie's cock is spitting this wet precum straight into his boxers.

Holy shit. _Holy shit._

"--God, I--"

She laughs at his breathy desperation, and the zip finally gives enough that he can feel the outline of his boxers.

"I heard you. Heard you _fucking yourself raw_ to me. I heard it, Charlie."

He's never been this turned on in his whole fucking life, and he swears he'll cum the moment she touches him.

He captures her mouth in this blistering kiss, this kiss he feels is burning straight through him - this painful thing that physically aches as it moves over his skin; fire like nothing else, licking right up from the pit of his stomach as her legs tighten around his hips. Blistering and stumbling, he guides her through a doorway: grasping at her skirt, licking at every inch of her mouth his tongue can reach.

The air is pushed from her lungs as he pins her wrists against the fridge, and Charlie is so lost in it. Lost, even as he folds her shirt up; feeling inches of skin he's dreamed of, long into the night. His nails dig into the small of her back as her breath is shared with his, and he's wanting so much more than this: wanting every inch of her, wanting his cock to sink into every part of the wet heat of her--

"I'm on the pill," she huskily says, and Charlie's heart is lost somewhere in his throat, "I trust you, Charlie. I trust you."

_Let me be used._

He's lost in her, and in this. Lost, even as his hard cock pushes up to the apex of her thighs; hard and tight, even as he lets her legs drop just enough around him.

Trembling in the quiet buzz of the TV; his belt clinks. Frustration spikes when he unthreads it, viscerally angry his plush lips have spent a minute without hers.

"You don't know what I've been--" he fumbles at the hem of his jeans, pushing them down his hips as her skirt hitches up at her insistence. "--What I've been thinking. God, I've been just so lost without this. I don't know how to tell you how I've--"

And she kisses him. Kisses him like his words are searing and his heart's bleeding all over her; like she's burning for an answer to a question he's halfway through giving.

"Then fuck me, Charlie. Show me."

Her hands push at the buttons of his jeans; now pushed aside, she skims the outline of his cock.

Christ. Holy fucking--

It's not clear how. Not clear what he's doing. Hell, there are less than thirty steps to his bedroom, even as he pushes her even tighter up against the door of the fridge. He knows, what with what he feels, he should be treating her right.

Should. Should. _Shouldshouldshouldshould._

A lifetime of intent has brought him here, and he's got nothing to show for it.

 _Now_ is the only thing that rewards him a second of peace.

So his fingers worm up. Calloused and roughed by years of gripping his pen too tight, he finds the join in her soft hips. Pulls down the lace he finds there as far as it'll go; the heat from his cock begging, desperate to sink as deep into her as he can ever allow it.

He's wanted this for _so_ long, and he's cared for her _so_ much.

"I've been thinking of this," he tells her, his words mouthed into the curve of her perfect lips, "since that night you were on your hands and fucking _knees."_

The head of his cock nudges her; materials on both of their thighs, and there's this...this palpable straining.

This breathlessness from her lungs, punched like wildfire and ash.

"I keep half expecting you to tell a joke," she whispers.

The smirk on him, even as her legs part, and he just--

_He just knows._

Because there's a _thing_ about matches.

There's a way, and a joke, and a pace of things. A moment of striking, and a moment where the world ignites. Shadows flicker, and Charlie's aware of the beautiful reality of what it means, and what it always meant.

Fucking isn't _fucking._ It's _not._

It's sold fantasy of a life you think should exist. It's the sold ideal of something you want to be: an ideal of you, if the world had been better. Charlie knows he was always looking for something - a split second of knowing, in a world that moves too fast for him, that there was something worth holding. Something in this life of mess, of endless pushing and pulling of control, to be held.

To be known, as he is: flesh and body and soul.

It's how he knows he's real, and he's never quite felt real since _she_ left.

Never, until now.

Until the flesh of her yields, and she's pushed up against his shitty discount fridge, and his cock's parting through warmth. Christ, oh Christ: he wants to just fuck into her. Fuck her so hard and fast he's left breathless and bruised, and she's just...she's kissing and kissing, and there's this _warmth_ right down in the deep pits of him.

_"Yes."_

Her sigh is enough to elicit this groan from him as he pushes - _Christ, she's so wet, so tight_ \- through her, her thighs so tight around his hips as his cock drags deeper. He knows he's big, knows there are lengths of him to swallow: but God, how she just takes him.

Takes him, until he gives this thick, deep groan. Feels the base of his cock hit her, and his mouth drops to her jaw.

Drooling; panting like nothing else.

"Holy shit," he guterally breathes, pushing in a tight thrust that makes her gasp, "you...you're tighter than I thought. _Tighter_. Fuck, how are you tighter--?"

She breathes this laugh, and her cunt greedily tries to drag Charlie further into her.

His hand is curled around her shoulder, and the place his wedding ring should be gripping feels weightless enough that it _aches_.

"You're so good, Charlie," and she's _sighing_ , that way he's always craved someone might just sigh his name, "so good."

_Please._

His first thrust is so controlled that his balls ache; chin dipping, heart pounding as he tries to square his jaw and pull himself back to the moment. His nose bumps against the metal door, but she's there: her skin against his chest, her breath soft on his cheek as she tries to gain composure while his cock yields through her.

It feels amazing. Feels like the best fucking thing he's felt in years.

But more.

Feels like _more_.

It feels like something he can hardly explain. Feels so real that it burns right through him; this sacred idea of something starting, of someone seeing him as he is. Facade and reason dropped away, Charlie feels every freckle on his face; every wrinkle of his brow, every press of his lips. Charlie feels every breath that passes through him like it's something sacred, and the way she's looking at him--

\--Oh God. _Terrifyingly beautiful._

He thrusts deeply; her hips arching into his in the darkness. Her forehead drops to his, and there is this endless savouring of forever.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, kissing every inch of her neck. "You're so--" and he hitches, trying to catch his breath as his cock yields through the gorgeous depth of her cunt, "--so fucking beautiful, sweetheart."

He feels limitless; pushing her up against this fucking crummy fridge.

But the way she's smiling at him in this crooked way...

Her lips drop to the place his jaw meets his neck as her cunt swallows every part of him as he thrusts, and holy shit. He's going to cum. Fill her up; fill her pussy until there's nothing left but him, and this, and--

"Touch me."

She's rumbling it right through the thin skin of his neck, but he'll deny her nothing; not a damn thing. The pad of his thumb finds her cunt through the madness; his other hand splayed on the fridge, and his hips pistoning as her legs lock tightly around him. Christ, Christ - he feels her fluttering, feels her body begging him as he just...

...Her moan is enough to send Charlie to the depths of desperation.

"Oh...Oh my f--, Charlie, I--"

Her hands fist his hair, and the breath in him is all but knocked out.

All but gone.

Her cunt flutters so wildly that it desperately tries to milk him, and he's so close now. So close that he can hardly breathe as his hips slap into hers, and the sounds that leave her pitch to higher and higher places with every moment.

He sees it all, in the L.A. light.

Sees her, helping him look for a polaroid on the floor.

Sees her in the supermarket, in the frozen section. She's driving him to the museum, she's fucking herself under the stars, she's here, she's kissing him, Christ, she's kissing him--

"--I'm gonna cum," he shudders, and he's surprised by just how much he knows it's inevitable. "God, tell me where. I'm gonna cum and I'm--"

"--in me. Cum in me, Charlie--"

He's burning. He's immolating, even as his hips smack into her.

_"What?"_

He can't breathe.

"We're safe. I trust you. Charlie, _please_. Please cum in me. Please, _Charlie_ \--!"

Fuck--!

It physically aches in his lungs as he cums: this painfully beautiful thing as his lips find hers, and he's moaning like it's the first time he's felt this. Like this is the dawn of this life he's never known: desperate, as he feels his cock twitching and spilling and pulsing, tight enough within her that he can barely breathe.

"Yes," she gasps, and Charlie's already trembling with how much he's blissed, "please, yes, Charlie--"

"--Oh God--" he groans, and it's--

\--Incredible.

Everything.

Wildfire and smoke and haze, and everything Charlie Barber has needed.

His knees knock and his eyes water when he carries her, half-drunk on all of this; right through the corridor and into his room. He helps lower her down, and the world seems to hold a breath.

Allows her to revel in the expanse of his bed.

It's not freshly washed, and the sheets aren't purely cleaned. He hasn't moved the beer bottle from the bedside table and he hasn't moved the debt papers from the desk and he hasn't charged his phone and he hasn't plugged in all the stuff he should have done and he hasn't set down the blinds properly and--

\--and she's smiling at him.

Stupid, ridiculous smiling.

She smiles as he peels back the sheets and his cock slides out of her. She makes this noise; this hungry, shivered sound - like she's grieved to be free of him.

"I'll help," he insists, pulling her skirt down off her ankles. Once she's freed of them, he pulls his own jeans off; strips himself naked, and watches as she throws every last bit of clothing on her body to the floor.

And before long, they're there.

It's silent, and it's longing, and it's a promise.

"Was that..." he asks, and he's breathless as she nuzzles into the curve of his palm, "...was that good for you?"

And he expects many things - but not a laugh.

"Charlie," she kisses the curve of him, and oh. God. Oh. "You're incredible. Ridiculous. Incredibly ridiculous."

Charlie Barber is burning, even as his cock wilts and twitches, spitting cum into the sheets.

"You too."

He wishes he could explain.

Explain how his College Girl moves him. Explain how he's been living like he's passing through his own life; relentless in a dark place. Moving into shadow and fire and smoke, in the hope of finding meaning in things he can barely comprehend.

Wishes he could explain the way her feet tangle with his is so imperfect that it lights a fire in him he can't put out.

But Charlie doesn't do it.

He's not quite perfect.

And that's okay, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> [Come and say hi on Tumblr?](http://callmehopeless.tumblr.com)


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